


An Unassuming Life - Part 4

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Series: Domestic!Dean [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 01:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6353995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is in the hospital, the reader rushes to his side. Part 4 of my Husband!Dean AU, An Unassuming Life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unassuming Life - Part 4

 

You’d always thought it was ridiculous when the female heroine in the books you read would talk about the room spinning or the breath rushing out of their lungs. You thought it was laughable, impossible. That was until the words ‘he’s in the hospital’ pierced your brain. You had to put a hand out to steady yourself as dark spots filled your vision and your throat constricted. The world seemed to spin in a circle as you stumbled, falling against the side of your white SUV, suddenly sure that you were going to faint.

“Y/N! Y/N, are you there?”

You could see the phone in your hand, could hear your brother-in-law’s voice coming from the tiny speaker, but you couldn’t seem to get the phone from where it was dangling from your hand at your side to your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut and forced yourself to drag in a lungful of air. Oxygen flooded your system and you somehow managed to put the phone to your ear.

“Y/N?” Sam yelled.

“I’m here,” you somehow choked out. “I’m here, Sam. Which hospital?”

* * *

When you finally rushed through the door of the emergency entrance to the hospital, the first people you saw were Sam and your father-in-law, John. Sam was leaning against a soda machine, staring blankly through the thick glass, while John was sitting in a chair, hands clasped between his legs, chewing at his lower lip.

John rose to his feet as soon as he saw you, gathering you into his arms and hugging you to his chest. The tears you’d been holding back finally let go, rolling down your face and soaking into John’s shirt.

“Dad,” you gasped. “What is going on? What happened to Dean?”

“It was a car,” Sam spoke up. “He was under a car and the jack slipped, trapping him beneath it. He was unconscious when they pulled him free, not responding. He was still unconscious when the ambulance came. They’d already taken him back by the time we got here.”

You reached for John, trying to steady yourself, that lightheaded feeling coming over you again. “Oh my God, under a car?” 

Sam quickly stepped up beside you and took hold of your elbow, guiding you to the nearest chair. He sat beside you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured. “He was breathing, alive, Y/N, but he is injured. We don’t know how badly, but we have to try to stay positive.”

You nodded, desperately trying not to cry and failing miserably. You cleared your throat. “How...how did you guys find out so fast?” you mumbled.

“Sammy and I got to the shop just a few minutes after it happened,” John explained. “We were going to take him to lunch because the shop’s been doing so well.” 

“I offered to call you because I thought it would be better if you heard it from family instead of someone else,” Sam added. He took your hand and squeezed your fingers. 

A set of doors leading into the depths of the hospital opened and a redheaded doctor strode out, heading directly toward you. 

“Charlie,” you breathed in relief, rising to your feet. Charlie Bradbury had been friends with you and Dean for years. She was one of the best doctors you knew and if she was Dean’s doctor, you knew he was in good hands.

“Hey, Y/N,” she smiled. “How are you holding up?”

“I’d be better if you’d tell me if my husband is going to be okay,” you said nervously.

Charlie put a hand on your arm. “He’s going to be fine,” she replied. “He got lucky, considering. He has several minor lacerations on his upper torso, some light bruising on his sternum, and one hell of a concussion. He has a cut on his forehead that needed stitches because it was pretty deep. I want to keep him overnight, just to keep an eye on him, but that is merely a precaution.”

“Can I see him?” you asked.

“As soon as they get him into a room,” Charlie nodded. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

You nodded, watching Charlie as she went back through the double doors. You dropped into the chair next to John, who was dialing his phone. A few seconds later you heard him talking softly to Mary. You leaned forward, your head in your hands, shaking slightly.

Sam crouched down beside you, so tall that you still had to look up at him to look him in the eye. He patted your knee. “Henry can stay with us for a few days, that way he can go to school and Dean can get some rest. And you can concentrate on Dean and not that rambunctious three year old of yours. I already talked to Jess.”

“Thanks, Sam, I really appreciate it,” you smiled wearily. “Are you sure though? Henry and the twins? That’s a lot to take on.”

“Positive,” he replied.

Sam and John both left shortly after that, at your insistence. John promised he’d be back later, with Mary, both of them wanting to see that Dean was alright with their own eyes. Sam wanted to get home to help Jess with the twins and Henry, knowing they would be a handful. You stayed put, in the lobby, the afternoon nothing more than a waiting game. It took far longer than you had imagined it would for the hospital to transfer Dean to a room. You were on your fifth or sixth cup of bad coffee when Charlie re-emerged from the back. You rose from your seat as she crossed the waiting room.

“Room 629,” she said. “They just moved him.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” you muttered, giving her a quick one armed hug before taking off at a fast walk for the elevators.

The nurse was just closing the door to Dean’s room when you arrived. She gave you a pleasant smile and pushed the door open for you, waving you in. You thanked her quietly and stepped inside.

The overhead light was turned off, the only light coming from the small bedside lamp. Dean was lying in the hospital bed, his eyes closed, his skin pale. He had a bandage on his forehead, an IV in his arm and several wires snaking out from beneath the light blue hospital gown he was in, running toward a machine at the head of the bed. He opened his eyes when the door clicked closed, squinting in your direction.

“Hey sweetheart,” he muttered, the words thick and garbled. He shifted slightly, wincing and putting a hand to his head as he did.

“Hey yourself,” you whispered. You sat gingerly on the side of the bed, taking his hand in yours. You smiled at him as you leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I was really worried about you. Do that again and I will kill you.”

Dean squeezed your fingers. “I’m fine. In fact, I think they should let me go home.” His green eyes stared into yours, imploring you to agree with him and rescue him from the hospital bed.

“Nope,” you grinned. “Not until Charlie says.”

“You’re leaving me at the mercy of the biggest nerd we know?” Dean whined.

“Who also happens to be the best doctor we know,” you countered. “You’re staying put until Charlie says you can go home. Period.” You pressed another kiss to his cheek. “Now quit whining and get some rest.”

“Yes, ma’am” he grumbled.

* * *

“Henry, you have to listen to Mommy, okay?” you said as you set your son down on the front porch.

“Yes, Mommy,” he said solemnly.

You straightened his clothes as you talked, wiping off the dust from the playground. “I know you haven’t seen Daddy for a few days and you missed him.” 

Henry nodded, his blond hair flopping into his eyes. He needed a haircut.

“But Daddy is still sore from his accident,” you continued. “You can’t jump on him or wrestle with him right now, not until he’s feeling better. Promise?”

“Yes, Mommy,” he replied solemnly, still nodding.

You opened the door and ushered him inside. You could hear the television playing in the living room, a baseball game. Henry heard it as well so he headed that direction, you following close behind.

“Hey, little man,” you heard Dean say. Henry responded with his own greeting, then he was hightailing it across the living room and into Dean’s open arms, his arms sliding around his father’s neck in a tight hug.

“I missed you, Daddy,” you heard him murmur.

“Same here, buddy,” Dean smiled. “Want to watch the baseball game with me?”

Henry nodded and settled in beside him, arms crossed just like Dean’s, intently watching the game, while occasionally sneaking glances at his father. You stripped off your jacket and set to work putting together something for lunch.

Dean had been home for a little over seventy-two hours, forced to take some time off by Charlie. He’d argued, he’d pouted, maybe even whined a little, but in the end, he couldn’t win against both you and the feisty redhead. The only thing she had let him have was his cell phone, and she made him promise to keep the phone calls to a minimum. He’d agreed, reluctantly.

He had spent most of the first day sleeping, still in a quite a bit of pain. You’d woke him up every couple of hours, just like Charlie had instructed you, but he seemed to be fine. He had seemed grateful to get some rest. 

The second day he’d moved from your bedroom to the living room, stretched out on the couch, watching baseball on TV and texting - until you took his phone away from him. He’d huffed, pulled you down beside him, his head resting on your chest, his fingers drifting lazily up and down your side. You’d thought maybe he’d fall asleep, but instead it had turned into an impromptu makeout session, an all out, fully clothed, bodies tangled together, who-can-get-who-off-first makeout session like you hadn’t had since you’d first started dating.

You’d finally pushed your husband away, gasping for breath, your skin hot and flushed. “Enough. You’re supposed to be resting, not raising your blood pressure.”

“This is what happens when I spend the day alone with you,” Dean had chuckled. He’d tucked you under his arm, his lips resting on your temple, his hand sliding beneath your shirt to slowly caress your breast. “When’s that doctor’s appointment? I need Charlie to clear me soon. This is killing me.” 

Charlie had cleared him on his third day home from work, though she wouldn’t let him go back to work for another twenty-four hours. So instead of working, he was at home for the fourth day in a row, able to enjoy an afternoon with his son.

And it turned out to be a lazy afternoon. Both Dean and Henry fell asleep after lunch while watching the game, Henry’s head in his father’s lap while Dean lay slumped against the back of the couch. You let them sleep while you did some light housework and washed a couple of loads of laundry, occasionally glancing over at your boys to make sure they were doing okay. 

The ringing phone finally woke both of them up, and after a brief conversation with Mary, you found yourself expecting a house full of Winchesters. They swooped in a few hours later, John and Mary, Sam, Jess and the twins, and to your surprise, John’s good friend Bobby and his wife Jody. They came with six pizzas, beer, wine and soda, along with the good-natured ribbing, sarcasm and unabashed affection that was a staple of the family.

You loved your husband’s family, it was comforting having them all there, but sometimes the Winchesters were a lot to deal with, loud and slightly chaotic. Which was why you slipped outside after an hour or so, desperate for a few minutes to catch your breath. You were leaning against the rail on the back patio, sipping from a glass of wine, when you heard the door close and quiet footsteps walking toward you.

“Are you hiding out here?” Dean whispered, sliding his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest. He nuzzled his nose against your neck, kissing the edge of your jaw.

“I just needed a minute,” you shrugged. 

“I know,” he chuckled. “Sorry.” He linked his pinky with yours, his lips still roaming over your neck. “Mom said they’re taking off, Dad has an early appointment, and Jess wants to get the twins to bed. I was told to find you so they could say good-bye.” He stepped back, tugging you with him. 

The family left in the same whirlwind of noise, hugs and kisses that they had arrived in, Jess eliciting a promise from you to get coffee in a couple of days, while Mary fiercely hugged all three of her grandchildren goodbye, then both of her sons. John gave each boy an affectionate slap on the back, hugged you and Jess, then he ushered his wife, as well as Bobby and Jody, out the door. Sam and Dean made plans to get together for a beer later in the week, then Sam scooped a twin into each arm and followed Jess out to their car.

Once you pushed the door shut and silence settled over the house, Henry collapsed to the floor at the foot of the stairs. He stared up at you, his green eyes glassy.

“I tired, Mommy,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Okay, munchkin,” you said, crouching down in front of him. “But first, you need a bath.” You reached for your son, but Dean stepped past you and scooped him up.

“I got him,” he said. “I’ll get him cleaned up and put him to bed.”

“You sure?” you asked, reaching out to brush your fingertips over the stitches on his forehead.

Dean kissed you, a soft gentle sweep of his lips over yours. “I’m fine, babe,” he murmured. He turned and sprinted up the stairs, Henry giggling all the way as he bounced in his father’s arms.

You straightened up the lower level of the house, tossing pizza boxes and beer cans in the trash, rinsing out glasses and wiping down counters, all while listening to the laughs and giggles of your husband and son floating down the stairs, the sound sweet and comforting. 

After you started the dishwasher, locked the doors and shut off the lights, you headed up the stairs. Dean was chasing a screaming Henry down the hall, a pair of pajamas in his hand. The still wet little boy jumped into your arms, a high pitched “Mommy” piercing your eardrums. 

You and Dean somehow managed to wrestle Henry into his pajamas and get him into bed. He insisted you read him a story, picking out one of the longest ones he had. Dean kissed you both and excused himself. A few minutes later you heard the shower start. 

Henry fell asleep long before you finished the story, tiny snores leaving his mouth. You tucked him in and slipped quietly from his room.

Dean was sprawled across the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp from the shower, his eyes closed. You thought he might be asleep, until he held his hand out to you, gesturing for you to join him.

You stripped off your t-shirt and jeans, slid onto the bed beside him, and let him wrap you in his arms. He rolled onto his side, catching your lips in his, kissing you, deep and probing. His hands slid up your back and into your hair, cupping your head and holding you close. Your legs tangled with his, your hands roaming over his naked body, pulling the towel away from his waist. You moaned when his semi-hard cock brushed against your leg. You reached for him, your nails grazing over his cockhead, drawing an answering moan from him.

“This okay?” you murmured against his lips. You wrapped your hand around his shaft, sliding it along the length, your thumb teasing the tip, spreading the leaking pre-come around the head.

“I’m good,” Dean growled. He shoved his hand between your legs, his finger tracing your clit through your soft cotton underwear. “God, baby, I’m so good.” He pushed your hair off of your neck, kissing it hungrily.

You pushed him to his back, kissing a trail down his neck and over his chest. Your tongue darted out, swiping at his nipple, circling it. You continued down his stomach, taking your time, enjoying the small gasps and moans he was making. You stroked him, his cock now so hard it was throbbing in your hand.

You pulled the head of his cock into your mouth, your tongue dipping into the slit, a shuddering moan leaving you as the velvety soft skin slid past your lips. You wrapped your hand around the base, opened your mouth and slowly slid down his shaft, laving him with your tongue, rubbing it against the roof of your mouth.

“Fuck,” your husband groaned, his hands tangling in your hair, his hips rising up off the bed, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. 

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked gently, cupping his sensitive sac, fondling his balls carefully as you pulled him deeper into the wet heat of your mouth. You slid back up the length, just barely grazing him with your teeth. You repeated the movement several times, each time taking more of his cock into your mouth, opening your throat to accept his tight, even thrusts.

You adjusted your position, raising yourself up on your knees so you were hovering over Dean, the new angle allowing you to swallow him down completely, caressing his balls as he fucked your mouth.

“Jesus, babe, I’m gonna come,” Dean moaned, his hands falling to his side, clutching desperately at the blankets on the bed.

You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, squeezing, releasing him just long enough to look into his lust blown eyes. “Then do it,” you murmured, stroking his length, once, twice, before taking him back into your mouth, sliding him past your swollen, saliva slick lips, your head bobbing as you pleasured him.

A low rumble echoed through Dean’s chest, his cock pulsing in your mouth, his balls drawing up tight in your hand, the all too familiar signs that your husband was about to come. You intensified your movements, deep-throating him, swallowing him down, the pressure of your constricting throat increasing his pleasure tenfold.

Dean trembled beneath you, letting go with an obscene groan, his cock jerking as he came, his taste flooding your mouth. You moaned, your nose pressed against his curls, taking everything he was giving you, milking him dry.

When it was over, you let Dean’s now soft cock slide from your mouth and slowly kissed your way up his body, licking at the fine sheen of sweat covering his body. You stretched out on top of him, nuzzling your face into the space where his neck and shoulder met, inhaling the clean scent of his skin.

His fingers drifted lazily up and down your back, his breathing even and steady. You felt tears at the corners of your eyes, the fear and terror you’d been holding at bay for days threatening to push itself to the surface. You knew you should be relieved that life hadn’t thrown you a vicious curve ball and stolen your husband from you too soon, and you were, but every now and then it would sneak up on you, especially in moments like these. You tried to push yourself closer to Dean, though you knew it was impossible - you were already skin to skin, limbs tangled together - but that didn’t stop you from trying. You swallowed down a terrified sob, not wanting Dean to know what you were feeling.

But he knew, he always knew. He rolled to his side, his arms circling your waist, the two of you chest to chest. He kissed you, a soft, sweet, tender kiss that made your toes curl, before tucking your head under his chin.

“I’m right here, baby,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”


End file.
